


Boyfriend Jacket

by makuroshi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff and Humor, I just want to write Bastian wearing Lukas' clothes, M/M, Strassenkicker, mushy stuff, some very light sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makuroshi/pseuds/makuroshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bastian wears Lukas' Strassenkicker hoodies to training, thinking that no one will notice.<br/>Everyone does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boyfriend Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://my-own-cure.tumblr.com/post/103474423606/when-will-basti-start-wearing-official) post on Tumblr.

The first day Bastian resumes training with the rest of the team, arriving at Allianz Arena in his usual training kit, black mittens and scarf with an addition of the military print AHA! cap, no one bats an eyelash at him. Everyone, even the non-Germans, is aware that the legendary Poldi and Schweini share wardrobes sometimes, despite them being 600 miles away from each other. How they manage to pull that off, nobody knows, but Thomas always gives those eyebrow wagging gestures whenever someone points it out.

In essence, Bastian wearing Lukas’ AHA! cap is a common sight, a normal occurrence as natural as having Thomas trip over an invisible brick in empty air or Mario stuffing his face full with pretzels on the sidelines when he thinks Pep is not looking. Jerome visibly winces though whenever Bastian wears the green one -the fashion expert in him screams that the colour scheme clashes horribly; the red-blue-white AHA! beanie complements Bayern’s colours better.

Bastian takes the cap off before warming up, and most of them hardly even noticed he’s wearing one in the first place. As soon as he steps into the field, Dante, Robben and a few others rush over to smother him in a group hug (more like group suffocation, but Bastian doesn’t mind), greeting “Welcome back, Basti!” cheerfully.  Attending fans start to chant his name in excitement, adding to the welcoming atmosphere.

So the day goes by exactly as he’s been wishing for, just Bastian having the time of his life as he finally gets to play on the field again, in the place where he belongs, with the people he loves and treasures like family.

He gets home feeling ecstatic, enjoying the good vibes he gets from spending time with the team. The fans welcomed him grandly, his form is improving day by day and he just has this overall feeling that things will be fantastic and smooth-sailing this season. _Life can’t possibly get better than this_ , he thinks, and then he’s reminded that _yes it can_ , because regardless of how perfect the day goes, it never does actually feel complete without Lukas by his side.

Speaking of Lukas, Bastian has heard about his unfortunate circumstances at Anfield, the whole ‘warming the bench’ treatment Wenger is giving him has been going on for a long while now and Bastian knows how frustrated Lukas is. Every so often, Lukas would call him in the middle of the night, venting out his disappointment at not starting (or even subbed), again. Truth be told, he’s angry about it, too -furious and outraged even- because playing with Lukas for ten freaking years has taught him that when it comes to talent, Lukas Podolski is the real deal. He’s like a walking miracle, a dream coming true. You don’t chuck away someone who has that much experience and skills. You just don’t. Unless you’re Arsene Wenger.

At times, Bastian would sit down and think, reminiscing of the days when Lukas was still at Bayern. He had the same problem, of course, a striker’s position is always the most competitive, but at least they were together. At least Bastian could run and leap onto him when he scored, comfort him if he missed, kiss him silly on drunken nights after a celebration. Now that they’re far apart, the late night calls and texts are the ones keeping them connected these days.

Bastian slumps into the couch, willing his working muscles to unwind as he pulls out his phone to speed-dial Lukas. He’s smiling already at the thought of listening to Lukas’ deep, rich voice, when out of nowhere, the sounds of 'Na Base do Beijo' blare throughout the apartment. After a few rings, Lukas picks up.

“Hey, Schweini,” he says, then some shuffling is heard. Bastian doesn’t reply, stunned and taken aback because the voice he’s hearing is absolutely not just coming from the speaker. It’s echoing, getting closer and closer. He frowns.

“Bastian, you there?” Lukas calls out again. Seconds later, he turns the corner and freezes.

“Lukas?” Bastian gasps, still talking into the phone even though the said man is standing in front of him at the hallway that connects his living room to the bedroom, grinning widely like a kid caught stealing Santa’s cookies and milk on Christmas Eve. “What are you doing here?”

Lukas hastily pockets his phone and walks towards the couch, leaning down to press a kiss onto Bastian’s cheek, who is still unmoving and evidently having a hard time believing his eyes. He pulls on Bastian’s hand and engulfs him in a hug, whispering a cheeky “Surprise?” into his ear.

Finally snapping out of his shock, Bastian smiles into the embrace and relaxes. He misses this, misses Lukas so much.

Today is officially the best day of his life.

 

 

…Or not.

Apparently, Lukas took the first flight from London without anyone in Arsenal knowing, not even Per, effectively sneaking out like a rebellious teenager. Bastian scolds him for it, but Lukas reasons that no one ever cares much if he attends practice or not, except maybe Alexis and Santi, and that one time doesn’t make much difference in terms of winning Wenger’s confidence or proving himself worthy. That’s what he’s been striving to do for the past two years, struggling to earn the place he deserves, and he just needs a break from all that. He can just call in sick, it _is_ winter after all.

“I really wanted to see you,” Lukas says, lips quirking up in adoration at Bastian as they sit in front of the TV, munching on the light dinner they made. Then, he winks playfully and plants a soft chaste kiss on Bastian’s lips. “I missed my little bunny.”

“I missed you too,” Bastian confesses, cheeks growing warm at the sweet gesture. Even after so many years, his heart still pounds faster whenever they share an intimate moment like this. It’s crazy how Lukas makes him fall in love over, and over again.

“You see, I actually have something to show you. Come on.”

Lukas drags him into the bedroom, where a pile of clothes are strewn all over the bed in the messy fashion which was _definitely not_ how Bastian has left it looking like before leaving the house. Before he can complain, however, Lukas grabs something from the hideously untidy stack and throws it into his arms. “Try this on,” he says.

Bastian only needs to cast one glance at the downy material in his hands to know that this is one of the clothes from Lukas’ newly launched line, Strassenkicker. Lukas told him about it a few months back, showing him some designs and asking for his opinions. Personally (and he can never tell Lukas this or he’ll sulk) Bastian has never taken the Cologne homeboy for a fashion enthusiast, judging from his rather monotonous daily outfits. Alas, in his eyes, Lukas still looks flawless no matter what he wears, and he’s simply breathtaking whenever he gets all dressed up for an event.

The possessive side of Bastian actually feels glad that Lukas is always only wearing a sleazy T-shirt or baggy jackets, if Lukas starts dressing like… Mats, for example, the girls will probably just start dropping dead in the middle of the streets in London.

“Basti!” Lukas yells, giggling a little when Bastian accidentally drops the hoodie in shock. He picks it up and hands it back to him. “Sorry, sorry, you were spacing out just now. Try it on, for me?”

Bastian casts an exasperated look at Lukas, wanting nothing more than getting back to his forsaken dinner, but his resolutions crumble into pieces the moment he sees Lukas’ hopeful expression. When has he ever said no to those adorable baby blues, anyway?

* * *

Lukas returns from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice in hand (Bastian had to practically force him out of the room get some privacy) to see his lover in front of the mirror, posing like a true Fashion King.

He smiles fondly. _Cute._ Bastian looks perfect, as always.

“Grey looks great on you,” Lukas compliments, signature bright grin playing on his lips. His clear cerulean eyes travel down Bastian’s figure from head to toe, taking in the sight of the man clad in the grey hoodie and fitting black jeans. The LP logo on his chest gleams in contrasting white compared to the grey, and the size is just right. Bastian can’t help but to smile back, catching Lukas’ gaze reflected by the mirror and noticing that Lukas is now staring at one spot, namely his butt. No surprises there.

“Are you talking about the hoodie, or my hair?” He asks, crossing his arms in mock grumble. Of course he knows what Lukas is talking about, after all, he does share the same opinion. The solid colour suits him well, and if he may say so himself, he looks like he belongs in the sporty section of a men’s fashion magazine. Lukas instantly appears apologetic though, genuinely thinking that he has hit a sore spot (it’s not a news that Bastian’s insecurity about his greying hair is almost on par with Bene’s on his tragic receding hairline) and hurriedly places the glass on the table, stepping closer to wrap his arms around Bastian’s waist from behind.

Nuzzling Bastian’s neck and breathing in the sweet calming scent that he’s become so accustomed to, Lukas plants a small kiss on his jaw and tightens his hold. “I’m sorry,” he says, missing the little chuckle Bastian lets slip. “I didn’t mean to.”

Lukas’s stubble is tickling him now, but Bastian fights the urge to squirm out from his grip, wanting to stay in the warm embrace a little longer. With international breaks scarce in number and far in between, moments like this are always something to be treasured, to be cherished and enjoyed to the fullest. “Just kidding. You of all people should know when I’m being serious and when I’m not. Besides,” he pauses, placing his hands on Lukas’ to loosen the hold before turning around. He meets Lukas’ deep blue eyes and suddenly feels like they’re twenty again, young and in love. “I kinda like this one. It’s comfortable.”

“Really?” Lukas asks, resting his forehead on Bastian’s. Then, he utters playfully. “Keep it, then. Wear it to the trainings, let the whole world know that you’re mine.”

“Don’t they already?” Bastian teases, and they share a hearty laugh. But they know it’s true. Only a dumb airhead will not notice that their relationship has gone way beyond the boundaries of ‘just friends’. Heck, even the media knows, although the articles still portray them as two _very close_ friends.

“Basti…” Lukas’ voice drops lower as he leans in to whisper softly, sending shivers down Bastian’s spine. “Can you… try on some of the others?”

“You talk like you have so many in your collection, Luki,” Bastian taunts, but the sight of Lukas pouting like an overgrown puppy makes him melt. “Okay, okay… I’ll humour you this time. Which one?”

“Ummm… the Cologne 10.“

Bastian wriggles out of the embrace to rummage through the bundle, fishing out a black hoodie with CGN 10 stamped across the front. He shakes his head in disapproval and lets out an amused chuckle. “ _Another_ hoodie? Oh come on, Lukas, don’t you have oth—“

“Only,” Lukas cuts in, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “The hoodie, only.”

 

Oh.

Bastian gulps.

 

“You’re not saying that I should wear it _without_ the pants, right?”

Lukas stays silent, biting his lips. Bastian’s eyes widen in apprehension.

“Oh my god. Lukas Josef Podolski, are you seriously asking me to-- _oh my god_ ,” Bastian pauses, taking a few steps back while running a hand through his hair. This can’t be happening. “What have you been reading, man, Cosmopolitan? You know what, I’m just gonna go—“

“Please?” Lukas grabs his hand before he can make a run for his life. “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

“And you will try to get some of _these_ , you horny bastard. I have training tomorrow, and it’s with the team so I want to be at my best.”

Undeterred, Lukas starts to link their hands together and swing them around in gentle, deliberate motions; creating a weird slow dance of their own. He peers up at his lover, the mere 1 cm difference in some way making his eyes appear glassy and sparkly.

“Don’t give me that look,” Bastian says, avoiding Lukas’s pleading gaze.

Lukas moves closer and drops his head on Bastian’s shoulder, mumbling into his shirt. His arms go around to rest on the small of Bastian’s back, thumbs rubbing in smooth soothing circles. _“Please?_ I promise I’ll be a good boy. _”_

“Ugh, for fuck’s sake. Now I understand why I tend to buy the whole supermarket’s chocolate section whenever Louis tags along, it’s the goddamn eyes, isn’t it? I bet this is some supernatural Podolski powers you’ve been hiding from me,” Bastian huffs in defeat. “Fine. Turn around, and don’t peek.”

Obliging without any protests, Lukas waits patiently for Bastian to change.

“You done yet?”

“Just a moment, uhh— I can’t believe I’m doing this.“ Lukas hears bucklings of belts, and then sounds of pants sliding off swiftly and Bastian stepping out of them. His heart slams against his ribcages excitedly. After what seems to be forever, Bastian mutters lowly. “Yeah, okay I’m done.”

Lukas turns around so fast, he almost gets a whiplash.

Standing in front of the mirror is a very awkward Bastian, struggling to pull the hoodie lower to cover the necessary parts. The black material hangs loosely against his frame, going down till the top of his strong thighs before cutting away to reveal a pair of sculpted legs, skin creamy and inviting. He feels ridiculous, and exposed. _Way_ too exposed.

“Wow,” Lukas gasps, feeling all air knocked out of his lungs, losing the ability to form coherent sentences. “You look.”

“Stupid?” Bastian supplies, hugging his arms to fend off the cold. The action causes the hoodie to ride up higher, showing part of his dark blue briefs and divulging more of the assets he so desperately tries to hide. Lukas’ breath hitches in his throat.

“Sexy. You look sexy.” Lukas says, walking closer automatically as if drawn in by a magnet. One step, and another. And another. “Shit, Basti, you look so fucking sexy I can just eat you up.”

“Oh… umm, thanks. Wait, where are you touching,” Bastian warns, feeling a pair of naughty hands creeping up his bottom and sloooowly slipping into his underwear. Lukas’ hands are icy cold against his skin, shocking him like electric, and the final straw is when he feels his bums getting squeezed. _This fucking liar._ He slaps the offending hands away with a hiss. “Lukas you lying asshole! You said you’d keep your hands to yourself!”

There’s a glint of mischief in Lukas’ eyes, and Bastian’s instincts tell him that the plotting guy has had this in plan since the beginning. He takes another step backwards, and like a romantic scene straight out from the movies, he finds himself trapped between the wall and a very, _very_ turned on Lukas Podolski.

 

He is _so_ fucked. Literally.

 

“No, I said I’ll be a good boy,” Lukas growls and licks his lips, a satisfied smirk adorning his handsome face. “A _really_ good boy.”

* * *

The next morning, Bastian arrives at training 45 minutes late, black scarf wrapped unusually thick and high up around his neck, a lovely crimson flush dusting over his cheeks. Pep gives him a little pat on the back, urging him to get changed quickly, saying that it’s okay, just don’t make it a habit like _a certain someone_ (somewhere in the distance, Javi is sneezing through his rehab) and then tells him that he’s going to play in the next game. Bastian brightens up immediately, thanking his coach and proceeds to join some of his teammates at the sidelines.

“Am I seeing things, or is Basti really wearing his boyfriend’s jacket?” Arjen wonders out loud when they jog in front of the stands, where Bastian is laughing about something with Manu. “I think I’ve seen Podolski wearing that before.”

Behind him, Mario, Robert and Xabi slow down, eyes following Arjen’s line of sight. Thomas passes by them, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I think so,” Robert confirms, snickering loudly  ~~like the Satan he is~~. “Wow, can he be anymore obvious.”

Xabi’s eyes remain fixed on Bastian as he continues watching him take off the black jacket in one swift motion. He shrugs. “I have to admit though, it looks nice and comfy. Must feel so warm to snuggle in.”

“I think I need to get one of those. Marco would like that, his favourite sweater is torn already.” Mario suddenly says, earning some stares from his teammates. He’s thinking of which colour to get -contemplating on asking Lukas whether it’s available in black and yellow and if he can customise the CGN to MRC- when he notices the others gawking at him. Recalling what he has just said, his chubby cheeks grows rosy in embarrassment; clearly he hasn’t lost his ‘randomly mentioning Marco’ tendencies yet. “W-what? It’s cold in Dortmund, okay.”

“Mario I swear, sometimes I think you guys are like the mini Schweinskis,” Arjen sighs.

“Schweinski… Is that like, a new brand of ice-cream?” Mario asks, already smacking his lips in anticipation, eyes glimmering with delight.

Before any of them can enlighten him on the subject (and how can someone from the NT not know, even Xabi has heard of it before in those 2010 World Cup days) however, Bastian comes running to them, in high spirits as usual. “What’re you guys discussing about?” He asks, jogging along with the small crowd.

Mario wastes no time to express his fascination. “Hey Basti, you know if I can get one of your jackets in yellow?”

“Why?” Bastian asks, startled by Mario’s question. Mario is always more into shoes than tops, surely he can’t be interested in buying that kind of boring clothes, right?

“I don’t know, you look kinda happy while wearing that. Like, sunshine and rainbows kind of happy. I figured it must be really comfortable, or something.”

At that, Bastian nods and beams in joy, talking animatedly about Lukas’ newly established clothing line, of how hard Lukas works to get it up and running, pride swelling in his chest the whole time. He sounds a lot like a wife bragging to her gossiping neighbours about her husband’s latest promotion, yet no one has the heart to stop him from going on and on about it. The rest of the boys pretend to not listen, although the name Strassenkicker has already been engraved deep inside their heads.

 

 

 

The following week, half of the Bayern Munich squad come to training wearing the same CGN 10 hoodie from the Strassenkicker store (except for Mario who sports a custom-made MRC 11) and the distraught look on Bastian’s face is enough to send Thomas rolling on the floor in a hysterical mess of scrawny limbs.

 

Bastian Schweinsteiger has unintentionally became the brand’s ambassador.

Lukas is never going to hear the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I'm sorry if I write the Bayern boys wrong, I'm not that familiar with the non German-NT ones but I need them for the setup, so I just went for it. And I also apologize for the bit criticizing Wenger, I'm just really frustrated with how he's treating Poldi. :/ Have you checked out [Strassenkicker](https://www.strassenkicker.com/) yet? You can get your very own AHA! cap~ Sadly, they don't ship to my country *cries internally*
> 
> Kudos/comments are greatly appreciated! ♥ Please share with me what you think of the story!


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